Blood of a Lamb
by Orpah
Summary: What would have happened if Thomas hadn't run? See what effect this has on John, Pocahontas, and everyone. Character death.


Well, I thought maybe I would try something completely different! So here's something no one's ever tried before! FYI, Nakoma is Pocahontas' friend, not an OC.

I don't own Pocahontas. Disney does.

Thomas stared in horror at the dead form of the Indian he had just shot. John shouted at him, but it seemed Thomas was in his own little world.

Just then, a whole bunch of Indian braves showed up, seizing Thomas, seeing as he was the one holding a smoking gun. He cried out in surprise at suddenly being grabbed and tied up. John shouted at the braves, "Stop! He didn't do it!"

Pocahontas grabbed John, intent on not letting him take the blame. She stood in the way of the warriors who wanted to take John too, attesting to his innocence.

"John?!" Thomas asked, seeming somewhat terrified. John shook Pocahontas off, pushing his way over. "Let him go!"

The braves all turned to look at him, quite a few with anger in their eyes. "He murdered Kocoum!" John ran his fingers through his hair, knowing what he was about to try could have disastrous consequences. "No, he didn't. It was-" "It was someone else in the woods! I didn't see him, but he was there!" Pocahontas cut in. While she wanted justice for Kocoum, she also wanted John to keep living.

The Indian braves were not pleased with this answer. They had seen the smoking gun, it was obviously Thomas who had done it! John cut in again. "Thomas tried to shoot the mystery shooter!"

That was it. The braves grabbed John as well, despite Pocahontas' protests. They dragged them both back to the village where they were both tied in the hut. Thomas immediately spoke up, sounding shaky. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, John..."

John sighed. It wasn't Thomas' fault, it was his. He was the one who taught Thomas how to shoot a gun, and he was also the one who got himself in that situation in the first place.

"It's okay Thomas, we'll find a way out of this." In actuality, John knew it was highly unlikely they were going to make it out alive, especially Thomas. At that moment, Pocahontas entered, sending a glare at Thomas. Thomas looked down, feeling shame rise to his cheeks.

John looked at Pocahontas reproachfully. "Pocahontas, it's not his fault-"

"He's the one who shot him, isn't he?!" Pocahontas demanded, looking teary-eyed. John swallowed. How could Pocahontas understand Thomas was a boy with no fighting experience? From what he understood, all the boys in the tribe were taught to be warriors.

"Pocahontas... I'm sorry about Kocoum, but Thomas is just a boy..." John said with a sigh, hoping she would understand, or at least take his word for it. Pocahontas still looked coldly at Thomas, but decided to leave it for now. "John, you didn't do anything! You shouldn't die, you should explain it wasn't you!"

John smiled regretfully at her. He wanted to make her happy, but his pride as an Englishman had to come first. He was the one who was responsible, and so he would own up to it. She cried, and occassionally glared at Thomas, as if he had done this all intentionally.

John comforted her the best he could, but it seemed there was nothing he could do. Eventually she had to leave, or else she would be spotted.

It was then he could have sworn he heard a sniffle. He twisted around, seeing that Thomas was indeed crying. He tried to cheer him up. "Death isn't so bad, Thomas. The Indians will be quick about it."

Thomas shook his head. "I-I'm not scared because I'm going to die, John... I-I don't know what will happen to my family, my sister, Molly, and my mother... What will they do without me to send back money for them?"

John could almost feel the guilt rolling off of Thomas. "I don't know..." he admitted, looking down at the floor.

Time passed quicker than they expected, and before John knew it, it was dawn, and Indian braves came in to pull both of them out, using loops of rope around their necks to lead them. John had never felt more subhuman.

They were marched in front of everyone, and the stony glares were more than intimidating enough for Thomas.

As they reached the rock where Powhatan stood with his club, John chanced a glance at Thomas. The poor kid was shaking like a leaf. The warriors decked out in full battle gear was a terrifying sight to someone who had never seen it before, John had to admit.

Just then, Powhatan spoke. "My daughter, Pocahontas, has convinced me of your innocence, John Smith." There was some grumbling, but John ignored it as his heart fell to the pit of his stomach. That meant only Thomas would be clubbed to death.

"And what about Thomas? Sir, please, he's just a boy!" John pleaded. But the stony expression on Powhatan's face told him the decision had already been made, and it was unlikely they were going to change it because of Thomas' youth.

"He is a murderer." Came the stone cold response, to which the braves shouted in agreement. John knew there would be no rescue from the other Englishmen, as they had probably barely begun to wonder where he and Thomas had disappeared to.

"Then, let me take his place. I'm the one who taught him how to shoot, so it's my responsability." At this request, Powhatan raised an eyebrow. "How is it your responsability? You cannot control what he does with what you teach him."

At a gesture from Powhatan, Thomas was pulled roughly forward, and his head placed against the rock. John immediately pulled at his bonds, shouting at them, "Stop, he's just a boy! Let me take his place! STOP!"

The cries fell on deaf ears as Powhatan raised the club. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, and the club came down with a sickening crack. John screamed at the sight of his friend's smashed open head, feeling fury building within him like he was possessed.

The braves dragged him aside as he shouted all kinds of curses and threats at Powhatan, while Pocahontas looked on, wondering if she had done what was right. The braves dragged him within a certain distance of the camp, and then threw him in that direction.

He had to stumble back to camp, looking like his very soul had been torn out. Several of the men looked up, and one came over immediately, taking out a knife and cutting John's bonds. "What the heck happened, Captain Smith?"

"He's gone... He's dead..." John said, sounding like he was in a stupor. The men exchanged looks. "Who's dead, Captain Smith?"

John buried his face in his hands, sitting down heavily. "Thomas..."

I decided to cut it off here because it was seriously dragging on. There will most probably be a second chapter, so please review!


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